FARHAYVEN: VENGEANCE (74 page)

     Ray and 1
st
River stand facing the demon squarely and move towards it. Clover’s river stays behind Ray’s. Serene’s river approaches the demon from its right flank. All of the Sollenthars, except for Ray, have their swords drawn. Ray relies on his silver staff, as usual. With an angry roar, Lord Deathwings releases a burst of Dark Orbs at Ray’s river. Ray and his Sollenthars raise their weapons and the barrage of Dark Orbs disintegrates and is absorbed into these weapons.

     “This cannot be. You do not exist
!
There are no Elementhars in the military
!
” exclaims Lord Deathwings in absolute surprise.

     “Exist _ we do of this, demon
!
” replies Ray.

     With another angry roar, Lord Deathwings releases another barrage of Dark Orbs at Ray’s river and tries to fly away. While Ray’s river defends against the attack, Serene commands her river to execute Heat Bursts at the demon. Lord Deathwings comes crashing to the ground just after barely lifting off as countless Heat Bursts slammed into its torso and wings. The demon struggles to get up. Ray and Clover’s rivers manoeuvre through streets to keep the demon square against them while Serene’s river advances cautiously. Ray executes a few Pebble Darts at Lord Deathwings. The demon lets out a soft groan as the Pebble Darts sink into its leathery skin. Black blood oozes out of the demon’s wounds momentarily. Then the wounds seal by themselves.

     Seeing that there is no easy escape, Lord Deathwings rushes towards Serene. The Sollenthars execute a barrage of Heat Bursts as quickly as they can at the demon. Lord Deathwings leaps from side to side and executes all manner of evasive action. A Heat Burst slams into its torso and slows it down a little. Then another Heat Burst slams into its torso and knocks it down onto its feet. It then dives sideways and manages to avoid a large number of Heat Bursts.

     Lord Deathwings yells out a curse in pure rage. To be attacked by its food feels like pure insult
!
It feels infuriated. With a renewed burst of energy, the demon rushes toward Serene and her river. As the demon closes the distance between itself and Serene’s river, she commands her soldiers to do a combined execution of the Heat Wall Spell. A huge, thick and towering wall of flames appears in the demon’s path. The heat from the Heat Wall is so intense that it manages to stop the demon in its tracks. Confused and feeling desperate, Lord Deathwings turns around and makes a rush for Ray instead, releasing a succession of Dark Orbs at Ray as it goes. Ray and his river once again raise their weapons to absorb the attacks. Meanwhile, Clover and 2
nd
River move away from Ray into a flanking position on the opposite side of 3
rd
River. Several Heat Spears soar through the air from Serene’s direction just as the demon was not looking and penetrates its torso. Black blood sprays from its leathery body, but only momentarily. Then the wounds seal up again.

     Sensing the futility of the situation, Lord Deathwings tries to fly off again. As it lifts off several paces high above the ground, it suddenly finds its wings frozen in a large block of ice, courtesy of Clover’s water element manipulation skills. It falls to the ground hard. At Clover’s command, 2
nd
River execute as many Heat Bursts as they can at the demon’s torso. Seizing the opportunity, Ray’s river and Serene’s river rush towards the demon and join in the attack. Both rivers send their barrage of Heat Bursts at the demon’s neck while Clover’s river pin it down with their own barrage of Heat Bursts. Moments later, Lord Deathwings’ head separates from its torso. The torso finally bursts into flames.

     The Sollenthars approach the severed head of Lord Deathwings. To their surprise, it is still alive. Its eyes are opened wide and its mouth opens and closes as though it is gasping for air. The head of Lord Deathwings stares at Ray and the Sollenthars in disbelief. Then finally, it stops moving. The red glow in its eyes fades. So after 750 years of power and immortality, Silver Grambune finally departs Farhayven for the realm of death. His severe hunger is no more
!

     The Sollenthars were surprised at the level of difficulty involved in killing a Secondary Demon. Even Ray himself was surprised. This was Ray’s fifth time in killing a Secondary Demon, and it was by far the most difficult. He then began to wonder whether some Secondary Demons were stronger, or perhaps more resilient, than others. Suddenly, the townsfolk came out of their homes to look at what was left of the demon. Fearing a civil disorder might be in the making, Ray commanded the Sollenthars to incinerate the demon’s head and body to ashes using their fire element manipulation skills. The disappointed townsfolk then returned to their homes. A few of them gave Ray a scornful look for taking away their possible ‘entertainment’.

     Meanwhile, the dark figure of a Secondary Demon sits in perfect silence on the roof of another tall building nearby. After bearing witness to the entire event, it just shakes its head and utters a simple whisper of the word ‘idiot
!
’ Then a flash of lightning cuts across the pouring skies and reveals the identity of this silent, dark figure to be none other than Lord Deathclaw
!

THE ESCAPE

     The
13
th
Dawn of Third Month of Dry Season
starts off just like the other dawns of the past many months in Minvian Thorn Sayvion’s life. The rattling of his prison cell’s iron bars by the guards comes like clockwork. Splashing his face with icy cold water, Thorn’s eyes come to life immediately. He gobbles down his ration of a fist-sized bun in mere moments. He washes the bread down with water from the same trough that he had used earlier. But there is one significant difference this morning. There is a sparkle of light in his eyes, a burning ember of hope and determination. This morning may begin the same as the ones before, but Thorn Sayvion would ensure that this day ends very differently.

     Feigning normalcy, Thorn wore the expression of hopelessness on his face. He made no hurried steps as he walked out to the metal ore mine. The shackles at his feet made it difficult to do so anyway. At the entrance of the underground mine, he picked up his usual tool, a rusty looking pick-axe. The crack of whips was the familiar sound of the early morning hours and he knew that this was the one sound he was not going to miss at all.

     Into the dark, gloomy tunnels he proceeded, turning left and right and choosing the numerous forks in this underground maze. Finally, he reached the chamber to which he was assigned and started smashing away at the chamber walls. The Serpentian overseer, one of Fightlord Forktongue’s favourite ‘apple-polishers’, ‘arse-carriers’ or ‘shoe-shiners’, left the chamber to check on another and was clearly not aware of a discovery Thorn had made by accident the month before.

     What Thorn had discovered was that there were drops of water gently oozing from this particular chamber wall and he had been very careful to position precisely where his pick-axe struck, ensuring the gradual and even thinning of it. He put his ear to the hard, cold rock surface of the wall. The sound of a gentle flow of water greeted his ears. It had an oscillating rhythm, which meant there was some sort of gentle wave right behind it. He was dead sure that the lake to the north of the mine was just behind this chamber wall and with this surety lay his hope of escape.

     One of Thorn’s fellow slaves went about picking up broken chunks of ore rich rocks and whispered in his ear.

     “We know what you’re planning. We won’t tell. Don’t forget about us. Good Luck
!
” he said softly.

     Thorn was surprised, and had to put in a lot of effort not to betray any emotions. He just nodded his head in silence and continued striking the chamber wall.

     The Serpentian overseer was back. The day continued on as before. Thorn worked, or rather, slaved away as usual. The key to success, as far as he was concerned, was the element of surprise. He made sure that the Serpentians suspected nothing. Soon, the sky began to darken outside and the Serpentian overseers began sending the Fallsian slaves out of the mine. Thorn continued to slave away and tried his best to delay leaving the mine. Then finally, only Thorn and the ‘apple-polisher’ overseer were left in the chamber. The time for action had come
!

     Thorn lifts his pick-axe as if to strike at the rock wall again, but instead, he turns around and slams it into the chest of the overseer. The apple-polisher’s eyes bulge in surprise. His voice fails him. He collapses silently. Thorn rushes to the chamber entrance and starts smashing the support beams that supported it. After several strikes, the roof of the entrance collapses and creates a cave-in. The shouts of the other Serpentian overseers get drowned by the noise of falling rocks and earth. Without wasting any time, Thorn moves rocks and small stones to seal the collapsed entrance, making it as air-tight as he possibly can. He works fast, knowing that time is now against him. He gets on his buttocks and with his feet, he kicks and stomps the stones, rocks and loose earth with the soles of his shoes to compress and compact them. It is imperative to him that the collapsed entrance is completely sealed and the seal must hold. Then with the pick-axe, he knocks out the bolts of the shackles that bound his wrist and ankles. Thorn looks at the dead Serpentian with disgust. Not able to help himself, he swings the pick-axe into the face of the dead body a few times while yelling his heart out. There is much anger and hatred that has to be released, and Thorn Sayvion feels not an ounce of sympathy or compassion for his tormentors, including this one
!

     Thorn strips the dead body of its sword, sheath, belt and bloodied cape. Putting these items on, he steps apprehensively towards the rock wall which he has been working on for the past one month. There are no guarantees in his mind that this wild idea of his will work. Standing sideways and swinging the pick-axe low much like a pendulum, he smashes the lower part of the wall. Drops of water begin to seep through. He swings his pick-axe again. Now the drops turn into trickles. He swings the pick-axe yet again. A loud crack ensues and water gushes in through a fist-sized hole in the wall.

     Thorn swings his pick-axe again and again, enlarging the fist-sized hole until it becomes large enough to accommodate his torso. Water fills up the chamber fast and the level is now up to his waist. The water is warm, and for that he is grateful. Cold water will complicate things as it will lower his body temperature and will further weaken his body. Thorn swings the pick-axe a few more times. Just his luck
!
The rusty pick-axe breaks
!
He shouts curses like a mad man. Then he begins stabbing the edge of the hole with the pick-axe’s wooden handle, breaking away more loose earth and stones. More water gushes through the growing hole.

     The water level is now up to Thorn’s neck. He drops the pick-axe handle and climbs onto the side walls of the chamber, trying to position himself as high as possible. He holds his breath. The water now engulfs his head and entire the chamber as well. The gushing of water begins to slow down as the pressure in the chamber equalises. He dives down and pushes his body through the hole. Moments later, he is free, and with all his remaining strength, kicks and pushes hard to get to the surface. The breath of fresh air and the cool late-evening wind blowing on his face as he breaks the surface of the lake are relief beyond measure. He is alive
!
He is free
!

     Thorn swam to the nearest bank. He crawled out of the water and afforded himself a little rest. He lay beside some nearby bushes, hoping to stay hidden from view. He closed his eyes but kept his ears sharp. The temptation to fall asleep was heavy. He was having boulder eyelids again and his head felt like a lemon being squeezed. But he kept his focus and after approximately a quarter of an hour’s rest, he pulled himself off the ground. One thing was going for him. No one knew he had escaped
!
He was sure that the Serpentians thought that he was dead, trapped in a cave-in and drowned. There had been no shouts of alarm from Serpentian overseers.

     Thorn crouch-walked to the bank. He took a few sips of water from the lake. Washing his face and clearing his head, he began to put his warrior mind to work. His immediate concerns were food, water and medicine. Weapons was something he had no need to worry about, for the Serpentian sword that he had taken from the dead overseer was more than sturdy and reliable. He took a look around. The nearly full moon in the night sky provided more than adequate illumination once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He found some palm fruits that looked like large grapes. He plucked one. Using his long fingernails, he pierced the skin of the fruit and squeezed the fruit slightly. Good
!
Thorn thought to himself. There was no white, milky liquid oozing out, only a clear, sticky fruit juice. Next he rubbed some of the fruit juice on his inner wrist. He waited a while. There was no itching sensation. The fruit was looking good to him so far. One last test had to be done. He took a small bite of the fruit. It tasted sweet instead of bitter. Once again, there was no way for him to be really sure, but the odds were that the palm fruits were safe to eat. He plucked a few and ate them. Then he broke off a few large leaves from another plant. He plucked a few handfuls of the palm fruits and placed them in these large leaves and bundled them up as best he could. He then tucked in his shirt, or whatever that was left of it and placed the bundle in his shirt. So now he had a weapon and some food. But the greatest and the most important challenge for him was water, or accurately, how to carry it. How indeed
?

     Thorn scratched his head. He was running short of ideas. He looked around as best he could. He found some plants with waxy surfaces on their long leaves. Plucking a few of these leaves, he rolled one up into the shape of a cone. He then folded the top parts of the cone and skewered them with a thin, needle-like palm leaf stem to secure its shape. He then tore a small piece from another leaf and placed it on the inside bottom of the cone. He then rolled another leaf into a cone and placed it inside the first cone, sandwiching the portion of leaf that was at the bottom of the first cone. He pressed the two cones together lightly, folded the top parts of the second cone over the first cone and skewered the cones together with some palm leaf stems to form some sort of ‘leaf cup’. He repeated the process again and ended up with two leaf cups. He looked at the two cups he made. They looked really pathetic. They could only hold a little bit of water and it would not be enough for his use, but he reasoned that to have something was better than to have nothing. He had no better choice. There was no bamboo or coconut to be found. He drank a few cupfuls of water from the lake and then after filling up both cups, he began his journey across the Serpentian grasslands under the illumination of the full Farhayvenyte moon.

     Thorn looked up at the sky. Studying the constellations, he ascertained the direction of the four quadrants. Thorn made haste as best he could across the grassy plains.

     Based on the general intelligence of enemy forts, Thorn knew that Battlelord Constrictor’s nestland, called Nestland Constrictor, was situated in the north-western part of Serpentia. And based on the sign-boards that he had come across while transporting the processed metal to the smelting factories, he knew that he was somewhere in south-western Serpentia. He was clearly in the nestland of one Battlelord Doomrattle, but this battlelord must be new, because the Fallsian military had no information about him at all. From what he could remember, this area should have been the nestland of a battlelord known as Blackscales. Clearly, Doomrattle had killed Blackscales and had taken over his nestland.

     Thorn tuned his mind back to the task at hand, which was to escape and make it back to Fallsian territory. But first, he had to head north. He had no choice. That was where Caramel Verance was, in Battlelord Constrictor’s harem, and he had to rescue her. Thorn crouch-walked in the open and tried his best to hide his movement with the help of the tall grasses of the grassland terrain. He stopped every now and then to listen out for enemy presence. His water had already run out, but he pushed on nevertheless.

     With the approach of dawn, and subsequent daylight, came great danger for Thorn; for in the darkness of night he had refuge but in the ensuing brightness of day he would be exposed and vulnerable. He had to seek shelter quickly, not for the protection against the elements but for camouflage from the eyes of Serpentians. The temptation to take shelter in the cluster of short trees nearby was strong, but he decided against it. A cluster of trees in flat or undulating grassy plains was too unique and attention-drawing to be a good hiding place. Thorn chose a cluster of tall grass instead, for there were many such clusters, and this particular cluster was within a stone’s throw away from a little creek. This little creek would be his life-line for the days to come.

     Actually, Thorn considered himself lucky, for in his haste to escape, he forgot to follow a golden rule of survival; which was to follow rivers and creeks or at least to stay close to a water source. He had made haste across the grasslands on two cones of water and would have been in real trouble had he not come across this creek. He dug a shallow hole in the middle of the grass cluster in the shape of his body with a large, flat stone that he had found nearby and collected the dug-out earth on his cape. He then threw the dug earth in the middle of some bushes a distance away. Next, he embedded some of the grasses that he had dug out earlier into the cape. He took his stomach’s fill of water from the nearby creek and filled his two cones as well. Then he lay in the hole that he had dug, covered himself with the camouflaged cape and slept the day through.

     A Serpentian overseer examined the tracks by the banks of the lake which was to the north of the metal ore mine. Fightlord Forktongue came up behind him.

     “Well, highminion
?
” asked Fightlord Forktongue.

     “It is as you have suspected, fightlord
!
That Fallsian slave had swum out from the mines and came to land here,” said the Serpentian highminion to his superior.